He Who Lived
by Baroquen Down
Summary: As they say, no good deed goes unpunished... In one world, a young Harry Potter saves the lives of his friends and family and is tortured into insanity. In another, an older counterpart does the same and is ostracized. "Fate" intervenes and a much stranger Harry must adapt to this horrifically different world he now inhabits...
1. Chapter 1

_**He Who Lived**_

**I**

"_In this world, it is not just one or two changes. It is many, with their snowballing effects, that have led to this present so distanced from the present you know…"_

He opened his eyes to darkness. It wasn't black, just… dark.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking and shaking his head before accepting that this was all he could see.

He bit back the feeling and urge to panic, a difficult task when he sat up and nothing changed. Still seeing nothing and feeling nothing about him to indivate where he was or what was going on.

The floor was hard beneath him, somehow feeling harder as hepulled himself up to his feet and felt around blindly for anything.

Sensory deprivation. He could hear only the sound of his heart and his breathing and could feel nothing more than the ground beneath his feet and the clothes on his form. He touched himself down briefly to make sure he was okay, fine. He was a little relieved to feel the knicks, scratches bruises and scars he knew belonged on his body (beneath his grubby and tattered feeling clothing) even if he could not, at present, remember how or why he had them.

But, despite those two senses, nothing. There was seemingly no air, nothing to hear, smell, see or taste. Well, scratch the see, there was something he was looking at. For there was a colour, a colour to the darkness that filled his vision.

It was a hard colour to describe, the void that Harry had opened his eyes to, dark and devoid of light. But most certainly not black.

It was the odd colour that came when you closed your eyes and pressed against your eyelids with your fingertips. Complete with the static-y pseudo-shapes that leave you wondering whether there is even anything to see or if it is some kind of trick of the mind.

"Why not both?" Loud and feminine in the silence, Harry near jumped out of his skin and fell into a ready stance to fight off a would be attacker as the voice continued heedless to him, "Why is it that humanity deals in such absolutes? Why does it have to be one, or the other? What silly little thoughts you mortals have."

The voice was a slow, lazy molasses, like honey dripping down glass. Reaching Harry's ears from the left, then the right. No matter where he turned it was off to the side, and all his squinting eyes could see was darkness.

"Oh, hey, chill out, buddy. Heart rate's getting a little high there, don't be dropping dead on me there 'Boy Who Lived.'"

She giggled for a bit and, had Harry not been feeling the world tilt and drop around him as his mind grasped at anything it could perceive, he would have noted the sound to be melodic and quite pleasant,

"Who are you?" He ordered an answer from the figure, "Are you… no. You're not Death. Are you?"

His words were firm, almost coming out as a threat rather than an interrogative. His tone still demanding a response which he got from a very annoyed sounding speaker.

"Tch, guy goes to Limbo once and thinks he's an afterlife expert." A mutter that still assaulted his ears on one side then the next, he had no trouble hearing it and shuddered a little in response. Heart beat hammering in his ears as a cold sweat developed on his back, "At ease, Harry Potter. I'm here to save your life."

Behind? He turned and there, the speaker. Just a silhouette but the first person Harry had seen since his 'awakening'. They were a black shape against the not quite black backdrop with no discernible features for Harry to latch onto to identify them by.

The sweet giggle came again as the speaker chose that time to speak once more,

"If you like, you can call me Fate?"

Her arms flew out, the sudden increase of volume and display of showmanship caused Harry to step back whilst her words had his eyes narrowing and his hairs standing on end. He bristled, and she snickered, "I've not struck a nerve with you, have I?"

"Tell me who you are before I kick you in the stomach and beat the answers out of you." He scowled, not just in irritation towards the speaker, but towards the quiver in his voice as he spoke. His hand, on instinct, had sought his pocket and come up empty. Wand gone. He was far from powerless without it but without it… he was neither as powerful nor as at ease without it on his person. His heart sank to his shoe's.

He was very much speaking out of his ass, and the non-chalant way she stood, hands on her wide hips and shadowed gaze never leaving him, Harry KNEW she was more than aware of this fact.

The floor swayed beneath his feet and tremors ran throughout his body. His tongue feeling like sandpaper in his mouth as he reached inside for that warm light at the core of his being and allowed it to eagerly run up and down to the tips of his fingers and toes to lie in wait. She let out a 'hmph' from across the space and, despite his fear, Harry prepared to go out fighting…

The figure shrugged a pair of slender shoulders. Thin, razer-like fingers fiddled away at the scalp of her chin length hair. Her figure and features becoming more visible and pronounced with every word she uttered. Harry could make out the curve of a small nose, the blade like pearly whites behind her dark lips, and the occasional flash of pink and violet as the colour of her eyes registered in the back of his head.

"Again, only call me that 'if you like'. I'll happily answer to Dee for the time being. It's close enough to my real name anyway."

She came into the 'light', an inaccurate statement in a sense there was no light in this place, Harry could just see) a womanly figure marching into sight. She could have passed for human if she had remained a shadowy silhouette. But now, in full view, he could tell that was not quite the case.

She was neither tall nor short, from across the way Harry could surmise that their heights were similar. As previously surmised, her eyes were an odd melding of pink and violet, no whites and the barest pinpricks of pupils. Both of the orbs, in their entirety, devoted to the orbs and their shifting colour.

Then came her skin, a soft blemishless canvas of midnight blue that matched with her short hair and allowed her unblinking eyes and marble teeth to pop out against the darkness. Said teeth were sharp, filed into their triangular blade like shape that very much struck a sense of apprehension into him as he took it all in.

"Who- what even are you?" Harry breathed out, more mesmerised than afraid in that instant as his mind worked to seek some

She sighed, pouting a bit,

"We've been over this!" She whined petulantly, folding her arms over her chest and shaking her head, "You're supposed to be one of the smarter ones, what even is this conversation?!"

Harry flinched; sparks lit up in his hands out of a fearful reflex. Her two-toned eyes falling to the display in an instant with a pensive glare that-

Fear. Harry caught it. The briefest flicker behind her eyes that had Harry standing a little straighter and had his bones feeling a little lighter. Maybe it was wrong to hope (maybe Snape wasn't too far off in calling him arrogant) but hope he did. Hope that whoever this… woman was, and whatever she had done or planned to do to him, he could fight her off,

"Alright, I know that look. You're clearly not in the mood for this, right?"

Her left hand was raised, thumb poised against her forefinger as every instinct in Harry's body screamed DANGER. Fire leaped to life in the palms of Harry's hand but a sharp 'CLICK' at the volume of a gunshot and the subsequent rush of light and sound snuffed that out as his concentration took a hammer blow.

A familiar hooking feeling ripped into his body and yanked him forward, pulling him closer and closer to the distant light as everything span and dance and fall apart around him. This was surely the feeling of a Portkey, yet different. More like someone tried to simulate the effects of a Portkey and hurled him through their first draft.

Harry felt a hammering force in his head, bludgeoning his brain regardless of what shields and protections he had in place, as his body shifted uncomfortably. White hot pain reverberating through every muscle and fibre as he felt his bones creak and change, his muscles shrink and contract and every piece of him just morphed into a form he could not see.

Then her voice again, disembodied and coming from all around, yet also fading as Harry was yanked further and further away,

"When you're ready to act like an adult… THEN we'll have a conversation."

The light and pain reached a crescendo, peaking at a level Harry's mind could not commprehend. Something had to give. There was a SNAP and Harry was gone to the world...

...

* * *

...

"How did it go?"

"Eugh! Awful! I didn't even get to explain the basics to him. He just decided he wanted to fight and that was that for the idiot."

"Heh, mortals are weird."

"Mmm hmm, tell me about it."

"…you worried?"

"Nah, he's a clever boy and I have faith in him. Even if he doesn't figure out why I sent him along there, he'll still do what I want him to."  
"You're certain?"

Laughter. Cold, high and irrefutably amused,

"No version of Harry Potter can resist saving the innocents, right? The poor dear is very much doomed." A shark-like grin with oh so sharp teeth, "Just you wait, you will NOT regret letting me deal with this…"

...

* * *

...

_**To be continued, I hope you are interested on how this moves forward.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**He Who Lived**_

**II**

"_In this world, it is not just one or two changes. It is many, with their snowballing effects, that have led to this present so distanced from the present you know…"_

She accepted that her children would never recover, but she wasn't the brightest witch in her year for naught. So, Lily Potter knew not to bring up this fact to her husband again, lest she risk his wrath once more.

This thought was one she thought on the daily, whether at the cottage, at the castle, in her lab or even here at St Mungos. Fresh from the Curse Treatment ward with its pitiably quiet patients, beige walls and those narrow rickety beds. One of which had her son, her eldest child, with those green eyes just like hers and the scruffy head and handsome features of her husband.

Her baby boy. Just sitting there, staring at a wall unmoving. He barely blinked, he barely breathed, he just sat and stared. Weeks prone and her baby just wasting away.

Thank Merlin her little girl was faring 'better'. No spell having even grazed one of her little orange hairs, courtesy of her overprotective big brother.

But she did not escape undamaged.

It was like snakes in her stomach. Writhing and coiling in her stomach as they whispered wicked words, telling her how bad of a mother she was, how she'd abandoned her traumatised baby girl, focussed more on arguing with James and the Auror's to save her son and not spared a thought to her still terrified baby girl.

She'd never really been that attentive, so focussed on her research and study; and James's career had him out of the house more and more. The two of them had really just left Opal to be doted on by a grandfather (who also couldn't be about all the time for the kids) and a big brother who really shouldn't have been, effectively, raising a child at his age and on his own. And now her big brother was just… gone. No one could blame the darling for shutting down like she had.

It was all another vile stone of guilt that settled uncomfortably in her stomach.

Yes, she knew her babies, as she knew them at the very least, were gone. She knew that her husband was not ready to accept that fact in the slightest. He'd thrown himself into hunting for Harry, tracking the Lestrange's… so sitting here in the Healer's office having to fight back a feeling of 'I told you so' smugness…

What kind of person did that even make her?

"You said you had an 'update' on Harry's condition, you didn't say it had deteriorated!" Auror Captain James Potter roared from his seat in the sparse, dull hospital office. The head Healer, a gangly middle-aged man in white and red trimmed robes with waxy skin and gentle features, wincing on the other side of the table, "I don't know if this was some sick joke, keeping us in suspense or trying to give us false hope, but I swear-"

"James!" Lily snapped, and Head Healer Abernathy chose then to cut in with his own words,

"Mr and Mrs Potter, please, your son's condition has not deteriorated. I apologise if I did not explain myself clear enough."

"Perhaps you can collect yourself and try to explain it to my husband and I again, Healer Abernathy." Lily's tone was gentle and appeasing, keeping the peace in an attempt to ensure her husband didn't blow his top and the Healer didn't kick them out, "Please."

The tension in Abernathy's shoulders released a little and her husband settled back into his chair (pushed back down by a soft hand on his chest and shoulder) and an air of awkward tension settled over the trio like a scratchy blanket,

"As I previously stated." James bristled, and Lily's hand settled a little firmer on the man, she didn't appreciate it either but she would allow it in the face of getting information, "Your son's condition has not deteriorated, simply changed."

"As I'm sure you are both aware… 'exposure' to the Cruciatus Curse is rather difficult to treat. The physical toll it takes on the human nervous system is not easily countered, and, in many cases, the mental strain and injury is something only the individual can recover from themselves, meaning there is truly nothing we can do for those… 'tortured into insanity.'"

A scowl twisted the lips of both husband and wife, James doing only a marginally better job of fighting back physically showing the grief.

"The only effective 'treatment' per say, is time. The patient either recovers on their own time or

"You say that Harry's condition has changed but hasn't deteriorated, has he shown some signs of recovery?"

"We do not know if we can count them as recovery." He looked to the seething man across the desk who looked a hair breadth away from drawing a wand and blowing his face right off. So, done with beating around the bush and trying to come up with words, he decided to be blunt, "Your son has developed very broad Occulmency defences."

"How is that- when?!" The Head Healer picked up on Lily's disbelief and continued with a voice that oozed his immense fascination with the topic,

"Overnight apparently, the orderly monitoring his status noticed them when she took over this morning and I was immediately informed. The strength and sophistication of them is far beyond anything we would expect from a child his age, however the scenario is not entirely unprecedented."

The parents blanched, far from agreeing on the subject of unprecedented.

The amount of Occulmency masters in the country could be counted on fingers, and even the old families who practiced Occlumency and instilled it upon their children could not claim to 'broad defences'. Legilimency was an art that was illegal to commit without permission for a start, and there were so few people who could even do so to begin with, it was a skill you were either were or were not born with.

Common consensus was that if you could detect an attempted intrusion and fight it off then your defences were 'good enough'.

"This is, fairly common in cases of child abuse and neglect that we come across." A little gentler and placating, the Head Healer grimly laid out the facts, "In an attempt to compartmentalise, the child's magic and brain moves to fence off any negative stimuli and memories in order to allow them to function again. It is an instinctive practice which is not something to celebrate. Hence my rather, poor choice in words."

"So… from what I can gather is… he may recover enough to be coherent and functioning again." James began slowly, clearly still thinking as his wife finished the thought,

"But he will have developed a different psychological issue?"

"I'm afraid that is the best case scenario, as we currently see it." A grim but sympathetic response that left the couple unsure of how to feel or what to even think.

The next ten to fifteen minutes were spent discussing their options and anything that could possibly be done to help. If they were honest with themselves, the talks weren't making them feel any better, nor were they getting anywhere.

**BEEP!**

The conversation stalled.

**BEEP!** Again, from off to the side of the room. A small thimble-like device the size of a teacup, softly whistling like a train and letting off steam.

"Do excuse me."

His wand weaved a few circles in the air and the couple felt the familiar set up of a few small privacy/silencing wards before he tapped the magical object two times with his wand and began a muted conversation.

They turned to one another to chat quietly, the two offering whatever small comfort they could to one another until their attention was brought to the animatedly speaking- no, shouting Head Healer. Railing into whoever was on the other side of the line as an increasingly more curious pair of Potter's wondered what on earth was going on.

A slash of the wand and his wards fell, a few sharp taps of the thimble and it fell silent. An awkward, almost harsh, atmosphere settling over the room as the Potter's resisted the urge to ask what was going on and the muted Healer seemed to just be processing whatever he had just been told. He shook his head, blinking in bafflement and rubbing his stubbly chin between his forefinger and thumb. He cleared his throat a couple of times and looked like he was searching for words.

His eyes turned to them, blinking in clear confusion at whatever he was thinking before he uttered the words,

"It would appear that your son is awake…"

.

* * *

.

Their footsteps echoed through them as they sprinted through the corridors and they ignored shouts, crys and yelps as they weaved in and around patients, healers and other people in their rush to the ward two floors below.

They took the stairs two at a time and cleaved through the halls, flashing James's badge whenever the a minor roadblock occurred and their angry, impatient demeanour was intimidating enough to get people the hell out of the way.

Then they were there, the private rooms. A lovely little perk for the families of Wizagmot families who attended St Mungos for… privacy. A long, brightly lit and hyper-clean stretch of corridor with dark pine doors on each wall.

Room 211's door was wide open, a Healer they recognised (blonde hair still in its tight bun as she observed the room with curious, disbelieving brown eyes) standing just outside staring in.

They brushed by her to take her position, framed in the doorway by the light outside and their breathing hitched in their throats as they found their eight year old not just conscious and aware, but upright.

He stood in his thin white robe, barefoot and pale by the large, sunny window on the rooms left side. The boy seemingly marvelling at his body, looking at his hands and arms in disbelief as his little body shuddered shook in, presumably, cold from the chill in the room.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes never leaving the cityscape view behind the glass, before he blinked a little owlishly and made to rub his eyes and yawn. Stood in his small white hospital gown, stretching his arms above his head, mouth agape and yawning, Harry simply looked like he'd awoken from a deep slumber rather than a pseudo-coma. He ruffled a hand through his unruly hair and… rolled up his nostril and yanked his hand away in disgust,

"I need a shower." A croaky mutter as he wiped said hand on the front of his gown and shuddered. Not yet seeing the stretched and gaping faces of his mother and father who equally looked upon the boy with eyes that refused to believe and expressions that wouldn't dare to hope…

"H-Harry?!" a gasp, neither of them sure if the other spoke, way too focussed on their child who, just an hour prior, had been laid in bed staring forward regardless of what you did. The boy was catatonic and unmoving.

He couldn't possibly be up, talking OR moving.

And as they called out to him, his head snapped to around in alarm. The boy taking a few steps back towards the manila wall of his room, looking upon them as if he'd never seen his two parents before in his life…

.

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_**Quick update, hope you like it.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**He Who Lived**_

**III**

"_In this world, it is not just one or two changes. It is many, with their snowballing effects, that have led to this present so distanced from the present you know…"_

In squalor, that's where they found her.

Bellatrix Lestrange, _Britain's Fiercest Woman_, panting and hiding out in an aggressively hidden alleyway awaiting the charge and activation of their latest Portkey. Crouching in the dark puddles in the recently rained upon flags alongside her latest team fleeing after their latest operation, overviewing their failures and success.

The mission was successful, they had escaped the Aurors and the Hit-Wizard Squad dedicated to their group. Their failures were, however, far more serious. Deaths, an exposure of their 'should-have-been' clandestine operation.

And the capture of Bartemius Crouch Jr.

The wards dropped with an audible FLUMP and turned Bellatrix away from overseeing the work done on the long shoelace and focussed on the six or seven boys in red.

In the few moments after the confrontation, as she allowed herself to decompress and their broken bodies lay about, she wondered if they were intentionally that shade. The same shade of red as their usual Stunners and Disarming Spells.

"It's certainly not to match the shade of the blood they spill." A snicker off to her side,

"Stay out of my head, Goldstein." Bellatrix snarled, teeth bared as her wand moved in the air and Notice-Me-Nots and Disillusionments flared up once again. The heavy glow of blue behind her was pulsing like a heartbeat, so there wasn't much time left anyway, so she assigned one of the others at the entrance and prayed they would be gone before anymore Auror's came their way, "Hurry it up, Rodolphus!"  
"Stop distracting me woman!" The tall, thin and slightly gaunt faced husband of hers sneered, sweat dripping down his pale forehead from the hairline of his neck-length black hair as he slaved over the shoelace with his wand,

"I suppose you should leave your man be, Bella. He looks like he's struggling enough."

Goldstein again, fiddling with the pure gold ringlets of her hair with one expertly manicured hand whilst she whistled her wand through the air and unleashed hot streams of magic that Bellatrix again recognised as more wards and enchantments for their location,

"You're wasting magic, Goldstein. It's probably why the Reds found us in the first place." Bellatrix sighed out, but her violet eyes were firm on Goldstein's soft and mischievous grey.

Merlin, she hated this woman! Golden hair, grey eyes and a beautiful face and figure. She stood out from the gritty and grim lot she stood around (even though she shared their black cloaks and dark uniform) by the simple virtue of her breath taking beauty and aura of innocence. She just looked and handled herself like a prissy socialite.

Even though she was a powerful Legilimens and one of the deadliest in their organisation. Her entire figure begged the world to underestimate her, Bellatrix wasn't anywhere close to that stupid.

Singing, a siren song that Bellatrix both (juxtaposing) recognised it as a truly beautiful sound, one of the most pleasant that would ever grace her ears. Though the other, the other despised that sound with a passion that could scorch the stone under her feet.

The singing came from the necklace, handing between her breasts and being very sharply pulled from its 'hiding place' in unison to all the others around her (an ingrained Compulsion charm on the item, a fact Bellatrix discovered almost immediately after first putting it on all those years ago, to ensure they knew…)

"It appears the Dark Lord is calling us." A gruff male she recognised as the somehow thinner, nigh skeletal and shivering Rabastan, cradling the necklace between ghost white fingers. The triangular symbol (containing the bisected circle that completed their organisations symbol) pulsing a sickly green in his hand and her own,

"Let him call. We are headed back to the Castle in moments." Jerking her head to the Portkey mere seconds away from completion. She missed the few affronted stares at her blasé response to a summons from their Lord, "Get over here grunts, we're leaving!"

'_Yes, let him call.'_ Bellatrix's snide thoughts humming away at the centre of her being as she strode, _'My loyalty has never been to him.'_

She snatched up the completed shoelace and held out her arm, watching the other few of her squad crowd around and grab hold just like her.

Yes. Her loyalty had never been to the Dark Lord. It was BARELY to the cause.

Her loyalty was to _Voldemort_…

...

* * *

...

The smell of cleaning chemicals and the bright glare of lights off pale, clean walls overloaded his senses the moment he came to.

Scratchy sheets over his body and the feel of a firm but thin mattress beneath, shifting his weight brought rickety shaking and metal squeaks. He mildly wondered if he could count the few metal springs he could vaguely feel beneath his back, as he lay still, blood pounding in his ears as his mind whirred and his senses lunged out to try and map the room he was in.

There was light, both natural and artificial. The artificial light was from above, there were no visible fixtures, a dulled white light emanated from the ceiling down upon everything in the room. The natural light, however, was simply the sun pouring in from a modest sash window to the right of the bed. The warmth (combined with the heat contained within the sheets) left Harry just a little uncomfortable.

Besides the occasional noise that indicated his movement on the bed, SILENCE. Not a single noise to be heard, muffled, distant or close. Nobody nearby? Or it sounded like that, Silencing charms and wards existed after all.

An assessment left him feeling small and defenceless, there was neither wand nor weapon on his person and 'his person' wasn't quite how he remembered it…

Caution was present, there would never be a day he threw it to the wind, however he tempered it and braced himself for a potential mistake, slipping out from under the sheets and out into the unfamiliar territory of the room.

The floor was so much closer than what he was used to having it.

He'd shrunk.

No. That would have been a… simpler answer.

He was younger. By his estimation he'd say about seven or eight. His hair was a lot shorter than he remembered, but just as unruly and ridiculous as he remembered it from his youth, sticking up at all angles in a mess of short curls. His sight was poor, but not as bad as years of beatings and straining in that dark cupboard would make it, his skin also a little pale but nothing close to sun deprived as he had been at seven.

If he was honest, the healthier sheen and feeling made him a little uncomfortable.

His little form was only covered by a thin, white, linen robe that he felt he may accidentally put a finger through as he examined it between his thumb and forefinger. He briefly put his hands through his hair and recoiled in horror at the greasy state he found it in,

"I need a shower." He croaked aloud with a throat filled with gravel

"Ha-Harry, sweetie?"

"Who…" SLAP. Fury. The warm hands that gently cradled his face were slapped away as Harry staggered back.

His last memory? The Hogwarts Courtyard, atop the fallen body of Voldemort as the dead lay round them both and Death Eaters and his friends huddled around them with their wands still in motion.

"You must think this is really funny, huh? What did you do to me this time?" Harry snarled in fury as heat roared through his veins. Magic bubbling up to the surface as the doppelgangers recoiled from him as sparks of power lunged for them from the waif of a boys body, "Is it a charm? A potion? What in Merlin did you-"

Then…

It was like a hammer swiftly slammed into his brain, a physical pain that made him scream and drove him to his knees.

The memories came with the strike, but Harry didn't notice them until then. Slotting themselves alongside his own actual memories during the pains consisted barrage of his brain

His eyes found them again, the two who had entered the room and endured his lashing out. Now crouched in front of him with panic, concern and Love across both of their faces. He had a hand so gently on his shoulder and those eyes behind his glasses never left him. She was talking, but he couldn't follow, but he could feel the desire to hold him to her as if it were some form of magnetic force.

"M-Mum? Da… Dad?" The croaky, slightly high pitched voice coming painfully up his throat as his eyes took them in, in undisguised disbelief. Those wide green eyes that were just like his with that bright red hair and heart shaped face. The man whose face was identical to his, those brown eyes with those smile lines he remembered from all the pictures.

'_James and Lily Potter. My parents.'_

_**What?!**_

...

* * *

...

The heavy heels of a pair of shiny black oxfords somehow echoed loudly over the sound of

Thus, was the presence of the Head of the DMLE.

He was a glorious man, broad shoulders and tall with extremely sharp facial features. Short brown, wavy hair with a greying under shave on his temples.

The Daily Prophet, the rag that it was, gushed about how he was some kind of 'Silver Fox' because of all this. A man well into middle age but still handsome and intimidating enough to turn every head as he enters a room.

His entrance to the Atrium of the Ministry from the side corridor no exception.

Camera flashes, the roaring of more journalists clamouring around the area that had been designated for him to address them from.

An elder wood flicked out of the sleeve of his black and red lined ceremonial robes and conjured a dark granite podium with the Ministry insignia blazed upon its front in gold. Silent and with a nary a movement of his wrist, the item flaring into existence to the mild awe of the assembled. However, his dark eyes not looking at them though, far more focussed on his destination than the crowd.

He clamoured atop it with a single step and span to look upon them with a sharp pivot of his leading foot. His dark blue eyes bore into their very souls as he looked down upon them, silencing them all then and there by that virtue.

"I thank you for your attendance." A level voice that boomed across the space, slicing through any possible noise and quelling it with its regal baritone, "The cowardly assault on the Ministry, this cowardly assault against the children of the brave wizards and witches who defend us day after day is a crime we will not forget nor soon forgive."

His tone was grave as he reviewed the events, the truly vile events.

The attack force Bellatrix Lestrange, Lieutenant of the Death Eaters, lead against the Ministry. Marching into the Atrium and then on to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

How, off guard but valiant, the combined Auror's and Hit-Wizards fought and fell one by one, holding a daring line against the Dark Forces.

How the forces thought they were winning, until they realised that the Lestrange's were nowhere to be seen. Where the Lestrange's had ended up.

And the massacre that had been found in the Ministry Creche…

The hostages were few, including one Harry James Potter. The eight year old Boy-Who-Lived who had put himself between the Death Eaters and some of his fellow children (including his own young sister) and was kidnapped when the Auror's intervened before the boy was swatted aside.

He regaled the crowd with the tale of the Auror's investigation and how they had easily tracked down the hostages and how the Hit-Wizards had infiltrated

The crowd besotted with his tale, drawn up in the excitement of the Lights glorious victory against the Dark. When the DMLE Head called for their continued support, spat in the face of the Dark's despicable actions and rallied the crowd behind his continued fight against the Darkness.

Rallied them to continue to stand against the Dark Lord

The silence fell for less than a second, an eye of the storm that closed as soon as it opened. And the press launched

"Sir Dumbledore!"

"Sir Dumbledore, sir!"

"Dumbledore, sir! Over here!"

Sir Dumbledore, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the last three decades (after Grindelwald's brutal defeat), looked over them like a king would his subjects…

And began the laborious task of answering questions…

…

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…

_**To be continued, sorry if it's a bit short but I decided this is where I wanted to end this instalment.**_

_**To PhillyFaze, not to be a spoiler but I'm not willing to drop onto you guys reading exactly where in time this place is immediately (e.g. just dumping all the info and exposition all at once so soon). I just want to slowly introduce you to the world and explore the world and story. Hope you want to keep reading.**_


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